


The Heat Center

by joycecarolnotes



Category: Silicon Valley (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, M/M, Omega/Omega, which I know next to nothing about!!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-19
Updated: 2017-10-19
Packaged: 2019-01-19 19:01:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12416091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/joycecarolnotes/pseuds/joycecarolnotes
Summary: Jared knew a place. Well-appointed, impeccably clean rooms. A view of the woods. Privacy. Discretion. Security. The ideal location to ride out a heat, together.





	The Heat Center

**Author's Note:**

> A "drabble" prompt from [tumblr](http://joycecarolnotes.tumblr.com) that got wildly out of hand! 
> 
> I've never written, or thought about writing, or even really read a/b/o before (with the notable exception of reserve's [What My Body Told Me To](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12059508?view_full_work=true)) so, I'm sorry if this doesn't make any sense. And also for its existence, generally.

Jared knows a place.

Well-appointed, impeccably clean rooms. A view of the woods. Privacy. Discretion. Security. _The ideal location to ride out a heat_ , he says. Something he wished he had when he was younger, in the cage at the home they locked him in, under the thrall of the alpha who owned the Wicca shop, fighting through it alone and unprotected on the streets.

Living and working so closely together - the closest of friends and confidants - his and Richard's heat cycles have begun to align naturally. They are due to get bad any day now. And because he knows Richard never plans for these things ahead of time, Jared goes ahead and does it for him. 

He books them each a room at the retreat. 

\--

Socializing outside mealtimes isn't strictly forbidden, Jared explains, but it also isn't exactly smiled upon. And truthfully, that's how Jared prefers it. He knows from experience that his own foolish need to help can land him in some tricky situations when it comes to other omegas. 

And he knows he won't be able to bear it: seeing his dear, wonderful Richard in heat. 

"I suppose it's for the best we keep our distance from each other," Jared says, standing awkwardly at the entrances to their adjoining bedrooms.

The moment stretches on. The silence seems to be waiting for something else to fill it. Neither of them knows what else to say. 

"Right. Okay, well." Richard shrugs and smiles. "Guess I'll see you on the other side."

\--

It'd been easier, before, to grit his teeth and suffer through it. Or in any case, Jared can't remember it ever being quite this _hard_. 

All the heats he's spent here, in this very room, with its breathtaking view of the redwoods. Safe, alone. Protected from the world and from those who would prey upon him. Jared would read. He'd think. He'd talk aloud to himself to stave off his bone-deep loneliness. He'd wait until his need became truly insufferable, then finally bring himself to an adequate-enough climax on a toy or his own fingers, only when he absolutely couldn't stand it anymore. 

"I don't see any reason why this time should be so different. You've done this before, Donald. You'll do it again," he says, out loud, into the quiet of his bedroom. 

But the truth is Jared knows _exactly_ why this time is different: he hadn't counted on the unbearable torture of it, knowing Richard was right there in the next room. 

Jared's eyes flutter closed. He pushes aside the guilt he feels and calls the image to mind intently. Richard in an identical room, writhing and moaning - so _wanton_ \- on an identical king-sized mattress. Smelling so _good_. Gaping. Slick. Sweating. Begging for his need to be fulfilled. His hands, those hands Jared loves to watch dance across a keyboard, working himself to satisfaction on one of the center's many provided devices. 

Or maybe - lordy, lordy - Jared's hands instead. His fingers.

Jared pictures it as he writhes on his _own_ bed - needy, feverish - gripping the mahogany headboard, and waiting to feel so desperate that he'll finally be allowed to touch himself.

\--

The walls, they always claim, are soundproof, but that must not be quite true. 

Jared startles, sometime in the night, alert with sudden horror to a terrible, inhuman sound. A moan birthed out of pain. Like the person or animal making it is dying. 

He presses his ear to the wall and listens closely. In his heat, all his senses are heightened, extra vigilant, like he can _feel_ the particles of air on his fingertips, like he can taste them with his mouth. He smells something, too, seeping through the wall from the room where Richard is staying. A scent that calls to him, begs for him. He feels warmth gather in his groin. An ever-increasing slickness that has, at this point, almost certainly ruined his nice pajamas. Water pools in his mouth. 

"Jared," a voice says, small and strangled. 

It is a voice Jared knows by heart. 

A voice he would break rules for. 

And before he can give thought to any of the reasons why it is almost certainly an unwise decision, driven only by his longing for Richard and by his insatiable need to help, Jared is forcing his own door open and making his way to the next room. 

\--

A mop of curly reddish hair lifts off the floor. 

"Jared," it moans. 

"Richard. I'm here. Yes."

Jared assesses the situation. The room is a mess. Sheets pulled off the bed, torn and tangled. A hole in the wall. Contents of the minibar strewn all over the mattress. The room reeks of Richard's fluids - woodsy and delicious, somehow both masculine and not - and if Jared didn't go so woozy, so empty-headed, so _intoxicated_ with the scent of them, he might take a moment to worry that he almost definitely will not be getting his security deposit back.

"I'm sorry, I fucked up," Richard mumbles into the carpet.

"No, no, darling." The endearment just slips out, something they've never used before. Something that might not be appropriate, under circumstances different from these. Jared rushes to Richard's side. The scent is overwhelming, and so near to it, Jared finds his need, his want, the cruel and endless aching in his guts, almost unbearable. He brushes the hair back from Richard's forehead. Runs the tips of his fingers over Richard's bare and sweat-slicked back. "Tell me what to do," he says, "and I'll take care of it."

"Fuck - I don't - can't - can't _stand it_ \- I don't care - shit - just - anything - inside me - right now."

"It's alright," Jared assures, and for the moment, miraculously, his own need is all but forgotten. Sublimated. Set aside - buried deep - in favor of Richard's. "Hold on, darling. I'm going to help you get what you need. Do you want that?"

"Please. Yeah, Jared. _Help_."

\--

Jared flits about the room, rummaging around in the spilled and scattered contents of the minibar. He gathers towels, and toys, and a bottle of cool water that he raises delicately to Richard's chapped and bitten lips. 

"Drink up," he says. "You wouldn't want to get dehydrated."

"How could I - Jared - I feel so fucking... wet."

And he _is_ , Jared notes, _so wet_ , as he positions Richard in the center of the mattress. Soft, silken pillows beneath his elbows and knees. The place where Richard is gaping - desperate - slick and wanting - pushed up high in the air, as if he's begging for him. 

Jared takes a moment to step back and admire the hedonic, decadent scene.

He wants Richard so much. Wants both to devour him and to be devoured. Wants them to be so far inside each other that they become one body, one thing. He's never in his life wanted anything the way that he wants this.

Jared knows that Richard was lucky enough to find relief in standard heat suppressants. That he spent most of his life on them, only stopping recently, since Pied Piper, when he began to worry that their numbing side effects were interfering with his work. Riding a heat out like this will be somewhat new to him, and Jared is pleased to be here. Proud and incredibly fortunate to have the chance to guide him through.

"Have you ever had a toy inside you?" 

"Do I look like the kind of guy who uses - jesus." Richard shakes his head. 

"We'll go slow then. My fingers first. But don't fret," Jared says. "They call them toys because they're fun to play with!"

His hands between Richard's thighs spread him apart, wider, gently, before he runs two slick fingers over Richard's anal cleft. He presses in - one finger, then two, then three, so easy, to the knuckles - and shudders when he feels Richard take hold and draw him in. 

"Goodness gracious. You're so wet," Jared sighs, in wonder. "So beautiful. I never" - he pauses and, with his forearm, wipes a hot, happy tear from his face - "never thought I'd get to be with you like this. Never thought you'd want just... me. What I am."

"Jared." Richard gasps. "Fuck. I want you so much."

"And you have me," Jared promises. 

"Please," Richard begs. "Take your clothes off."

Jared undresses quickly, relieved to be free of his soiled pajamas.

He presses back inside and twists his fingers. 

"It's not - fuck," Richard howls. "It's not fucking _enough_ \- c'mon, Jared, please. What _is_ this. Why does this _feel_ like this, Jared? Why the fuck is this happening to me."

"Shh, shh," Jared assures him. He pets at Richard's hair, so gently. "Darling. It's who you are. It's perfectly natural."

Words he'd wished someone had told tell him, the first time he felt like this.

Richard smacks his palm against the bed in abject frustration. A moan so ragged, it sounds like a banshee. "No," he says, almost angrily. "You. It's you. You're doing this to me. You're so - so - fucking _hot_. Making me need you. Making me be - like this. Jared? Will you" - he gestures with his head toward the array of toys laid out across the mattress - "will you put one of those... things inside you? I know you need - _so selfish_ \- I mean - I know you need this too."

"Of course." Jared smiles. The relief is immense, at getting what he needs with Richard's explicit permission. "Why don't you choose one for me?"

Blue. Richard names his selection by color - unsure what else to call it - and he watches, over his shoulder, his mouth agape in stunned, enraptured silence, as Jared impales himself on one of the largest, most complicated and intimidating-looking devices in the set. 

"Jared?" Richard swallows. "Thank you - I mean - for all of this."

Jared salutes with his free hand. "It's an honor, my captain. Whatever I can do to help. Any part of me you may require."

And Richard cries out for his fingers - _please, please, more, deeper_ \- and he sobs and begs and pleads for Jared's fist.


End file.
